


Metaphysical

by CaptainTsukiko



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Agape, Angst, Crossover, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6213994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTsukiko/pseuds/CaptainTsukiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why would no amount of perfume refuse to wash your stench off? Must be my imagination if nothing at all.</p><p>[And not my heart.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metaphysical

**Summary** : Why would no amount of perfume refuse to wash your stench off? Must be my imagination if nothing at all.

[And not my heart.]

 **Rating** : T to M  
**Special Acknowledgements** : I find it absolutely hilarious that my autocorrect keeps turning "Liu Feilong" into "liu ceiling."

 

**Metaphysical**

**.**

 

The sky is burning.  
With oncoming rain clouds, wind lapping at the skin behind your ears.  
Grey, dreary as hell.

It's not often the sky burnt with the force of Suns, you want to enjoy the scene, lips soft against the wind. Though the faster the clouds float, the more fiery it gets. It seems this anticipated storm would be heavy. And, a white shirt with owl eyed admirers hounding after you wasn't the best to withstand that torture with.

You sighed, gold eyes closing against the pain growing in your temples. Blondes, redheads, brunettes: all of their eyes sticking on your back. And not to mention the guards... You took a sharp glance-around. A deep breath.

And you step into the spider's trap of a drug cartel's den.

.

It was a nice hotel. La Reave. Room 21: a medium suite with old, creaky French windows and silver string-strung jewels curtaining the bed. Through which the sun sparks invaded exactly when you'd like to wake up.

Relaxing, a word hardly used in your life.

There was something awfully... homey about wolf trap, even if it bore no resemblance to Taiwan. Green every nook and cranny until some, rustic white painted homes appeared in free intervals. It was like half a forest itself.

You absentmindedly caressed the antique vase by your bed.

It was spring. But it felt odd to see no flowers than the ones growing companied through your windows.

And that afternoon, you flew away to golden, dying old rays.

.

That day was the first time you came across a modest one.

Will Graham, he'd said after prompting (for a goddamn eon) for him to. The man didn't even spare a second to look at your eyes, fumbling like a child with his numerous dog leashes, tying them neatly on his hand after one had rudely tried to bark you out.

You walk him home.

[Even stranger, but it was the day of the strange. So who cares anyways. The opium must've gotten into your head.]

To drop him off because his dogs might run away again, you said. But he must've sensed you true intentions, you figure, when he tried to be polite in refusing you. A pathetic attempt, really. But worth pushing into when he finally agreed.

.

Will dreamt of Egyptian Kings that night, with their Kohl smudged eyes, gold eyed gods and incestuous queens. Their hands ghosting through his heart and guts, and him shooting into thin air. Sand filling his lungs.

He woke up into blood like sweat the next morning. Half asleep, he dialed to the man--no, the pre-man--with soft fingers [still stained by blood, guts and ripped veins, sand stuck in his nails.] And after promptly coming to senses, cut off his call as soon as possible.

Or at least, tried to.

For he heard a silky voice enter the receiving like a fragrant perfume into his ears.

"Who is this?"

I... I didn't mean to, the words die in his throat. The other man is saying something (savory, wresting - _tasty_ ) but that doesn't penetrate the snow in his brain.

"Any ways..." Feilong clears his throat. Wether embarrassed or reconsidering the idea as he speaks. "Are you free for lunch today?" 

Sometimes, a stranger is better to lean on than someone familiar.  
Because you will never see them again.

.

Will decided he liked Fei over that lunch.

.

The wine felt nice in your belly. A lovely burn to chew down the savoury company as you drank in another pointless laugh. "I assume I don't look much like a business man after all. I'm more suited to shooting things without thinking, really."

"I'd be careful." Will's natural self was a slightly cocky, warm soul. Complete with comfortingly awkward smiles. "There's an ex-FBI agent in front of you." Perhaps it was the old yellow lighting; the man wasn't afraid to look him in the eye anymore.

That made you satisfied.

"If I were you..." You raise your glass, looking through it and within blue eyes sparkling grey. Bright, twinkling. A flashlight through glass, really. "I'd loose my mind by now. Too much hard work."

"Oh believe me. I _am_ crazy. Everyday is an undoing of my inner... madness. A void I can't please even with sacrifices of my life." A breathy sigh-laugh, slight downturn of the eyes... It's almost like he's scared.

Almost.

You uncross and cross your legs.

"Then let's be mad together."

You're sure that he sees the solemnity in your gold depths.

.

This is the Virginia dream. Classic, soft - fleeting. But you don't know why there's that shackle of despair in freedom.

Chains of fog in sunlight.

You smile. He tries to reciprocate through the red haze. Maybe it's because Alana Bloom isn't here with her cherry lipped smile. Or maybe you're just special

_This cannot last._

Hands touch, like dews of stardust in the heart.

_And we know it._

.

The bullet wound hurts, you think when you wake up. You were lucky to avoid an infection, but Yan Tsui is harsh in the phone receiver. It doesn't itch in the bandage, at least. But your blunder made your vacation a little longer. And somehow, you can't be happier.

Will looks nice against the soft daylight, you think with a squint.

(Actually, he looks great in every light. You wish you're the only one to know that. But that's not possible.)

There's sweat drops on his back. So you get up and caress it.

 

* * *

 

You're pressed close to me, around me where I can feel every inch of goose flesh on your body.  
Yet I still wish that you would come closer.

 

* * *

 

He has dreams you worry about. Should worry about. That wall of thick glasses and anxiety is a matter not short. Will thinks he's crazy. Tries to avoid everything that matters. Is comfortable ignoring all that matters.

The hardest part is that you can't do anything.

A short term affair, no more for comfort than sex. Boundaries marked and eyes shut.

But he is laughing. God, reluctantly laughing. Wheezing through hot nights with that bicycle you took (stole) from a garage with you on his back.

And you wrap your arms around his and think; if only.

If only--

.

 _My shirt,_ he wheezes through pink kisses and maroon bites. His formal shirt lays on the floor, torn. And you groan back, _I'll... I will buy you a new one._ Hands caressing brown curls, black locks and long lashes and five day stubbles. A Rosy whisper in rain:

_I can feel everything when I'm with you. I'm not... numb._

Promptly after, your feet grow cold as if you're experiencing a scare.

.

Everything is buzzing, burning astray, past your head. It scares you like you're six again, yan tsui sneering above your head. It hurts. This strange burn. You hold onto the only rope you have.

Desperately, helplessly, uselessly.

Especially when that rope is burning too, just like you.

_Just like **you.**_

.

Your hands burn. Gashes spilling blood. You should let go. Words, rumours, Yan Tsui.

A smile pulls on your poison-honey coated lips.

But business is about taking hot, perfumed risks.

* * *

The week long holiday is coming to an end.

But you still hold Will, taste him, sense his burn that is so much like yours and not.

A red, settling sun in the evening. A burnt Phoenix failed to rise back. But the concrete is still hot, as if a memento of the vermilion affair.

And you still hold onto his back, kissing it lightly. They white curtains from the French windows waft on both of your heads. Jewels reflecting; tinkling along with wind and sun.

I'll stay with you and burn along with you. For you. For as long as I can and as long as you'll let me.

He freezes.

You both know it's not possible. (Yan-tsui, father, Baishe, Will.) But you lot try and make this bitter tea of an affair taste as sweet as you can.

A deception.

.

The sky is burning.  
With friendship and affection it's numb brethren called loneliness.  
It's not a bad thing.

Few tortured Will more than the scent of roses with Jasmine oil. It just wouldn't wash off of these bedsheets.  
_Couldn't_ go away.  
.

Airport was a busy affair.

Liu Feilong looks around with a soft face, stating straight into Will Graham's reluctant eyes. Ooh servants are scurrying with luggage, casting a curious eye at the pair; waiting for some kind of reaction from both of them.

They don't.

The only reaction is when the announcer calls the shots. Only then a small sneer graces luscious lips, like a secret between two mischievous boys.

.

It was nice meeting you, Mr. Fleeting fragrance.  
It was nice burning with you, Mr. Incense.

_Now let's begin leaving each other._


End file.
